


To Have and to Hold

by OlwenDylluan, Quilly



Series: Quodlibets [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi, Romance, Valentine's Day present, Wedding Planning, Weddings, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, wiggleverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: It's going to be the wedding of the century--or, at least, it will be, if the snabies have anything to say about it.-Valentine's Day gift from OlwenDylluan and Quilly to the Wiggleverse! Updates every Tuesday and Friday until Valentine's Day!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Quodlibets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589863
Comments: 132
Kudos: 233
Collections: Wiggleverse





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Quilly and OlwenDylluan, back at it again with holiday round-robin fics! We decided on this one halfway through our Christmas special and we are so, so excited to share it with you! Prepare for much lighter fare than what we've been dishing out recently (read as: what Quilly has been dishing out recently). You may expect hijinks, shenanigans, japes, gambols, and perhaps even tomfoolery, but at no point is this going to be angsty. Pinky-swear, cross our hearts and hope to cry.
> 
> It's Quilly to start and then Olwen, just to give you an idea of the order this time around!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my great pleasure to bring you Chapter One! Olwen will be up for Chapter Two on Friday, so check back in then, but until then: enjoy this great romantic soppy story we're greatly enjoying!

It started with an overheard conversation at school.

“I’m a flower girl in my Auntie Tessie’s wedding,” Penelope gushed to her cronies, sitting a few seats down at lunch from where Rosa and Molly usually ate theirs. Rosa tilted her head thoughtfully. “I went dress-shopping with her and _everything_.”

Later, in the safety of break time, Rosa turned to Molly and asked, “What’s a flower girl?”

“What, like in a wedding?” Molly asked. Luckily, Rosa already knew what a wedding was thanks to television, but her grasp on it was theoretical at best; not wanting to let Molly know this, Rosa just nodded. “It’s a girl who goes down the aisle first and throws flower petals for the bride. Sometimes there’s two of them.”

“I see,” Rosa said. “Did…sorry to ask, but did your parents have a wedding?”

“Before I was born, I guess they must have,” Molly shrugged. “Most parents do. Why, aren’t yours married?”

“I don’t know,” Rosa frowned. “I never asked.”

“Lucky,” Molly said with a bitter little sigh. “If they’re not married, they can’t get divorced, and your mum can’t throw the wedding photos in the bin and then take them out later when she thinks you’re not looking.”

Rosa thought of Father and Azirafather doing what Molly’s parents were doing and shuddered. If her comfort of Molly was more gentle than it usually was (which was saying something), Rosa would chalk it up to how deeply disturbed the thought made her. Molly didn’t deserve what was happening in her life, of course, but Father and Azirafather separating for good… it was unthinkable (and rather painful, considering the fiasco around Christmastime).

“Father,” Rosa asked on the way home, “are you and Azirafather married?”

Father, who had been taking a sip of his iced coffee, did an impressive spit-take all over the Bentley’s dashboard, which he miracled away once he was done coughing.

“What brought that on?” Father asked roughly. Angelica was giving her a look that said much the same.

“Just wondering,” Rosa said. “I guess that’s a no?”

“I mean, we—it—I—” Father choked, and Rosa looked at Angelica and hid her giggles behind her hands. Angelica grinned. “We…are,” Father finally said, “in all the ways that count.”

“Did you have a flower girl?” Rosa asked.

“N-no, no flower girl,” Father shook his head.

“So you didn’t have a wedding?” Rosa asked. She wasn’t sure if that was allowed, being married without a wedding, but to be fair, she didn’t know all that much about weddings or marriage.

“No,” Father shook his head. “No wedding.”

“Hmm.” Rosa looked at Angelica. They would have to discuss this further. But somewhere Father couldn’t hear and get embarrassed, Rosa thought he’d been through quite enough in one sitting.

After dinner, Rosa called a meeting in Clem’s room, since his was cleanest.

“What’s this all about?” Junior complained, scratching at his latest plaster-covered scab.

“It’s come to my attention that Father and Azirafather aren’t married,” Rosa said grandly.

“So?” Datura shrugged. “Maybe they don’t want to be.”

“I think Father does,” Rosa said. “He got all embarrassed when I asked about it.”

“Why do they have to be?” Junior challenged.

“They don’t _have_ to be, it just might be nice if they had a wedding and a marriage,” Rosa said. “I mean, they have kids and a house, and usually those things all go together, to my understanding.”

 _A wedding?_ Clem asked, coiled in Rosa’s lap. _What’s a wedding? And a marriage?_

“Like a big party,” Rosa explained. “Doesn’t have to be very big, but there’s usually cake, and presents, and lots of flowers. We saw it that one time on telly, remember? The movie with the Greeks and the Windex?”

“I like parties,” Junior grinned. “How many weddings can they have?”

“I guess as many as they want,” Rosa shrugged. “But you can only get married once to the same person. I think. Not totally sure. But I know Father and Azirafather haven’t had one and it would be nice if they could.”

“And a marriage is…it’s like…it’s when two people love each other a lot and are together all the time,” Angelica supplied. “So Father wasn’t wrong, he and Azirafather are basically already married.”

 _I see,_ Clem said thoughtfully. _A wedding sounds like a birthday party._

“A birthday party for a marriage,” Junior said, and nodded decisively. “We should put on a wedding for them, whenever their marriage birthday comes around.”

“It should be a surprise,” Angelica declared, to general agreement. “We can just make up a wedding and have it at the end of a game of monsters and princesses!”

“How will we get the cake and the presents and the flowers ready?” Rosa asked. There was a silent moment as they pondered this question.

“Well…maybe we just plant the idea, and they can take care of having a real grown-up wedding,” Angelica said. “With guests and stuff. Like Adam!”

“And Warlock,” Datura added, only a little shyly.

“And Auntie Tracy,” Rosa nodded.

 _And Anathema,_ Clem said.

“It would be nice to see Father or Azirafather in a big pretty dress,” Angelica mused.

“It’s settled, then,” Rosa clapped. “We’ll throw a pretend wedding, and then maybe they’ll get the idea.”

 _And if that doesn’t work, we can just ask,_ Clem said contentedly. No one could fault his logic in the slightest there.

Crowley knew something was up with the kids, he just didn’t know what it was.

For starters, they rarely allowed grownups into their monsters and princesses game, and Crowley was never assigned the part of the hero. This did not bother him, because Aziraphale was usually never assigned the part of the princess. If the two of them were required at all, they were usually either assistants to the hero, or assistants to the snake, or, during more Rosa-led sessions of the game, assistants to the princess, who would inevitably become queen through some clever political maneuver. At any rate, letting Crowley wear the ripped-blanket cape and wield the stick-sword of the day was unheard of.

“Have at you!” Crowley cried gamely at Junior, who was playing the monster today and was fully snaked-out for the occasion, hissing dramatically. Crowley hissed back, very carefully waving his stick in nonlethal configurations (because yes, Crowley _did_ know the basics of swordfighting, thank you, he did his part in inspiring enough duels in Italy to know which end was the pointy one, at least).

“Oh, do save me, brave hero,” Aziraphale called helpfully from where he was very loosely trussed up amongst the roses, beaming at Crowley’s antics as he forewent the stick and tackled Junior head-on, balling him up in the cape he ripped from his neck and refusing to loosen it until Junior transformed and forced his way out, scowling.

“Yaaah!” Junior growled, launching himself on top of Crowley, with the help of his assistant Datura, both of whom overwhelmed Crowley for all of a few seconds before Crowley pinned them both under him and deployed “tickle fingers” mercilessly. He was helped in this endeavor by Angelica and Rosa, who took over tickling while Crowley slid to his knees in front of Aziraphale and very carefully lifted Clem from around his neck.

“Vanquished,” Crowley declared, letting Clem wriggle free to the grass, and set about sliding Aziraphale’s wrists free and kissing him sloppily on the cheek. Aziraphale giggled almost as much as the children, and held Crowley’s hand as the kids called a ceasefire and stampeded to where Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting by the rose bushes.

“Okay, you two stand up and wait just there,” Rosa ordered, and Crowley sighed but complied, helping Aziraphale to his feet.

“My hero,” Aziraphale sighed, leaning into Crowley’s side, and Crowley would deny all semblance of pride despite the way his chest puffed out as he put his arm around his angel. They watched in amusement as the children had a brief huddle, then watched as Junior marched towards them and stood just behind them, prodding them apart with sharp pokes at their hips. Crowley allowed it, but kept holding Aziraphale’s hand because no pipsqueak could ever make him stop now that he was allowed, thanks.

There was an awkward sort of procession as Angelica and Rosa marched towards them side-by-side, throwing uprooted grass and clover and fallen rose petals that they’d gathered in their hands, and Clem and Datura followed at a sedate pace, and it wasn’t until they were lined up, two on Crowley’s side and two on Aziraphale’s, that he realized what was happening.

“Dearly beloved,” Junior said solemnly, “we are gathered here today because…because…”

“To witness the union,” Rosa stage-whispered, and Junior glared at her. Aziraphale seemed to have a fit of the giggles again and covered up his mouth with his free hand. Crowley felt his ears unwillingly begin to heat up.

“To witness the union,” Junior said, as if he hadn’t needed the prompting, “of the Princess and the Hero. Um. You may now—”

“Rings!” Rosa hissed.

“Come on, are we doing the whole thing?” Junior complained.

“If you don’t want to do it right, then switch!” Rosa huffed.

“I can do it!” Junior snarled, and Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand because a peep of a laugh had just escaped him. “Um…do you have rings or something?”

“Oh, I have something that might work,” Aziraphale said, and let go of Crowley’s hand long enough to work the ring off his pinky. Crowley watched him with wide eyes, because not even during their idle pillow talk had Aziraphale ever removed it. Aziraphale picked Crowley’s hand back up—the left one, he noticed—and looked up at Crowley from under his lashes. “May I, my darling?”

“Um—er—yeah,” Crowley choked, and was _not_ crying, thank you, his eyes were not prickling at all as Aziraphale carefully slid the ring onto the appropriate finger, resizing it as he went. “I don’t—I mean—” Alright, this wasn’t quite how he wanted to do it, but if they were doing this now—he snapped, and fished around in his pocket, and took out a simple silver band, the inside of which was etched with a delicate scale pattern. The cunningly-carved and set jet and diamond-studded wings on top had been trickier to get right than Crowley had been expecting, but he thought it didn’t look half bad, all told. Aziraphale’s eyes shone.

“This do, angel?” Crowley asked, slipping it onto the left-hand ring finger of his angel, and Aziraphale nodded, one of his rare speechless moments Crowley so treasured.

“I now announce you snake and husband,” Junior said, almost startling Crowley, who had very nearly forgotten their little audience. “You may now hold hands and stuff.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” Aziraphale said, interlocking his fingers with Crowley’s, and yanked Crowley forward to dip him and kiss him as much as was possible with the two of them grinning like saps as their children both cheered and “eeew”ed in equal measure.

 _Wait, was that the wedding?_ Clem asked as Aziraphale let Crowley up.

“No, it’s just a game, silly,” Angelica rolled her eyes.

“I think that’s good enough,” Crowley croaked, still cradled in Aziraphale’s arms and very unwilling to move from his spot even as Junior wormed between them to rejoin his siblings on the other side.

“No, there’s gotta be a party! With cake! And a marriage!” Junior objected.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked with a well-known twinkle in his eye, and Crowley smothered his laughs in Aziraphale’s jumper.

“Because—because—you gotta!” Junior argued.

“It’s the done thing!” Rosa added.

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Azirafather,” Datura rolled their eyes, “you’re teasing us now.”

“I am, my dear ones,” Aziraphale grinned. “Why do you think Father and I need a wedding?”

“Don’t you want a wedding?” Angelica asked. “With cake? And presents? And flowers? And Adam and Warlock and all our friends?”

Crowley thought about it.

“Y’know, angel, a little soiree and maybe a tiny ceremony wouldn’t be…too bad,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale tried to look at him but they wound up bumping cheeks instead, being so close. Crowley obligingly backed up some. “I mean, if it’ll make the kids happy—”

“Nothing too extravagant, but a small, intimate gathering…yes, I can see that being very agreeable,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley kissed him again just because he could. “When should we make the wedding for, children?”

There were a variety of dates called, including “tomorrow” and “our birthday” and “Christmas”, but Crowley thought they could probably do better than that. It wasn’t until later that night, staring at his hand and the ring on it, that it even began to sink in that they were doing this, it hadn’t just been the children’s game.

“What are you thinking of, my love?” Aziraphale asked, snuggled against his chest, his hand with his own new ring on it resting over Crowley’s heart.

“I’m thinking that’s not how I’d planned on asking for your hand,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale laughed.

“Nor I,” he smiled. “Having children does rather make one change one’s priorities around, doesn’t it?”

“Had it all planned out, too,” Crowley sighed, lacing his fingers together with Aziraphale so their rings rested together in the moonlight. “Roses, the Ritz, decked-out bookshop…was going to be very nice.”

“I think I prefer what happened,” Aziraphale sighed. “Having the little ones involved…rather made it a bit more special.”

“Mm.” Crowley thought about the second ring hiding in his sock drawer and thought he would save that one for later—the kids’ birthday, maybe, seemed to be the time to bring out a ring with their kids’ eye colors on a band that would stack with the wedding ring. He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead and settled in for a long cuddle that would probably become sleep. Probably.

Engaged. Who’d have thought it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing brings a family closer together than a wedding... or creates as many opportunities for misunderstandings! Especially when the snabies are involved...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olwen here; it's my turn to add a chapter to our Valentine's Day gift to you all! We're having so much fun with this. Low angst, we *promise.* I know we sent the family through some drama in the previous holiday fic, but we're channeling our angsty leanings into The New Arrangement at the moment, so this one should remain adorable and sweet. x

The next morning, Aziraphale found himself sitting at the kitchen table, shifting his left hand slightly and watching the early light move across Crowley’s ring.

He felt indescribably excited. Butterflies in the tummy and all that. Ridiculous, honestly; they’d been as good as married for years, really, long before they’d been able to even hold hands without fear. Angels didn’t need union ceremonies, and he assumed Hell lacked that sort of thing as well. Getting married was a human thing, a delightful, brilliant, human thing, and Aziraphale had never been so happy to have gone native.

Married. It was a word he’d never expected to apply to whatever it was that he and Crowley had together. Partners, yes, in many senses of the word. They never corrected people when they referred to them as husbands, of course. It was decent human shorthand. But the idea of actually standing together and affirming their commitments to each other was mildly dizzying.

“Morning, angel.” Crowley dropped a kiss on the top of his head and shuffled past him.

“Oh, my dear, I’m late. I haven’t made your coffee, and you’re out of bed already—”

“Not late, angel. Couldn’t sleep, to be honest.” He looked over his shoulder, a grin on his face. “Woke up wearing a ring and had to check to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Well, I can understand that feeling,” Aziraphale said, smiling back. “It’s rather unreal, isn’t it.”

Crowley frowned at the teapot in the counter, lifting the lid and looking in.

“How long has this been steeping, angel?”

“Oh, my goodness—I must have lost track of time. If you must know,” he said, standing up and moving to join Crowley, “I was gazing at this lovely band.”

“Who’s the lucky chap?” Crowley said, turning to lean back against the counter.

“A devilishly handsome rogue whom I’m hoping won’t mind spending an indecent amount of time being the focus of my attention,” Aziraphale murmured, stepping right up to him and sliding his arms around Crowley’s waist. “I’ve been told I can become quite fixated, to the detriment of being unaware of other more mundane matters.”

“First of all,” Crowley said, “you’re talking about reading a book, not a person, and second of all—”

Aziraphale kissed him, and Crowley wove a hand through his curls, thoroughly kissing him back.

When they finally separated enough to smile at one another, Crowley said,

“Bet a book can’t kiss you like that.”

“There’s a pun about kissing by the book here,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “but I find myself quite unable to parse it.”

Crowley kissed the tip of his nose and turned to empty out the teapot and fill the kettle with fresh water to boil.

“So,” he said, reaching down the French press and his coffee. “A wedding.”

“A wedding,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Small, right?”

“Oh, definitely. Intimate.”

“Mr Fell,” Crowley said, refilling the pot with loose tea, “are you implying—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded, laughing.

“How do you want to plan this?”

“I hadn't thought about it yet.”

“Well, what do we need?”

“Flowers? Cake?”

“Food,” Crowley said, turning off the element and pouring the boiled water over the tea and the coffee. “There cannot possibly be a party for you without food.”

“Well, the flowers will be yours, of course,” Aziraphale said. “You handle them however you like.”

“You’re making a bid for the cake, angel, I just know it.”

“If you’d rather handle the taste testing and dealing with bakers—”

“All yours,” Crowley laughed. Aziraphale found himself laughing with him.

“How long do we have to plan?”

“A week,” Crowley said. “No point in stretching this out.”

“A week! That’s absolutely ridiculous, my dear boy. We simply cannot order food and have it ready in a week, that’s impossible.”

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t need to order. Could just…” He raised a hand, fingers set in a snapping position.

“No! Crowley, it’s a human thing, and we’re doing this the human way.We can’t accomplish this properly in less than six months.”

“Six months!”

“Ideally, it should be a year.”

“Now you’re the one who’s being ridiculous,” Crowley snorted. “It’s a thing in the back garden, not a ball at Versailles. Two weeks.”

“Crowley, you’re being infuriating on purpose,” he said severely, accepting a cup of tea.

“M’not. I honestly don’t see how you’d need more than a couple of weeks to have people over, put out some sandwiches, and a Victoria sponge.”

“Sandwiches! A _Victoria sponge!_ ”

“Fine, we’ll open a bottle of champagne as well.”

“Crowley, you are unbelievable. How on earth did I fall in love with such a heathen.”

“Demon,” Crowley pointed out.

“Three months. And that will be pinching things, I assure you. Corners will have to be cut.”

“Fine, then, a month.”

“Crowley, you are being impossible. People need time to plan and prepare and work on orders. Scheduling is part of their livelihood. No one will have availabilities!”

“Then we make do.”

“Crowley, if you cannot—”

“Six weeks, then.” Crowley pushed off the counter he was leaning against and moved closer to Aziraphale. “Angel,” he said, his voice shifting to tones of cream and caramel, “you’re so clever at talking to people and being charming. They fall over themselves to help you.”

“You make it sound like I tempt them, Crowley.”

“Oh, of course not. Never. But they like you. They like helping you. Lovely Mr Fell, so kind and so terribly nice.”

“Being polite is hardly—”

“And you’re so good at organizing things. You could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. I’m sure that six weeks would be no challenge at all.”

“Crowley, I know what you’re doing, and I—”

Crowley put his lips gently against Aziraphale’s and murmured, “You’re so clever. So good. My clever, capable husband.”

“This is not fair,” Aziraphale protested weakly against his lips.

“Mm-hm.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s teacup out of his hands and set it on the table beside them. He slid one hand behind Aziraphale’s neck, and the other around his waist. “The sooner it happens,” he whispered, his lips barely brushing the angel’s, “the sooner we’re married.”

Aziraphale sighed and went limp against him.

“Fine. Six weeks.”

Crowley smiled and pulled him closer, kissing him properly.

Aziraphale was reading outside the next day when he felt the presence of children. He looked up from his book to see Rosa and Angelica standing in front of him, Datura curled around Angelica’s shoulders.

“Hello, my darlings,” he said.”What do you need?”

“Azirafather,” Rosa said, “there is so much to do. Why are you _reading?_ ”

He felt a bubble of mirth in his chest.

“We can’t do it all at once,” he said. “There’s a lot of thinking to be done, you see. And thinking sometimes happens underneath the other things one does.”

“No,” Angelica said decisively. “There’s so much to think about that we have to think about it _on purpose_.”

All three children nodded. Aziraphale closed the book, correctly intuiting that his reading session was over.

“Well, my dears, then let’s make a list, shall we?”

“The children have helped me make a list of things we need to work on,” Aziraphale said as he sat on the bed, a set of papers in his hands. “I told them we didn’t need to discuss flowers and cake and guests, that they would be a surprise, but I have been sent to discuss food with you.”

“I’m easy on that, angel,” Crowley said. “That’s for you and the spawn.”

“Well, since your proposal was pre-empted by the children, how do you feel about the Ritz catering instead?”

“Thought you liked patronizing local establishments, angel.”

“Oh, I do. And I think we'll have the local patisserie do the cake. But I do so enjoy the Ritz’s cuisine.”

“It’s rather far,” Crowley said dubiously. “Don’t think they’d deliver.”

“Oh, I’m sure they could? If we asked _very_ nicely?"

"Why are you so set on this? If you must have the Ritz, why not book it there?”

“Because we want to get married _here_ ,” Aziraphale pointed out. “This is our home. Once upon a time the Ritz would have suited us, of course, but then… we wouldn’t have decided to marry, if we didn’t have the children, would we?”

The guileless blue of the angel’s eyes made Crowley’s heart do something funny. He leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Unlikely, you’re right. Your day, your decision, angel,” Crowley said indulgently.

“I want the Ritz to cater because we have such lovely memories of our time there. Now, shall we have the oak-smoked salmon terrine? The roast scallops? Crab salad?” Aziraphale hummed happily as he sorted through his papers.

“Little fussy things,” Crowley said. “If it’s in the back garden, a sit-down meal would be awkward. Besides, travelling down from London, things would get cold.”

“That’s an excellent observation, my dear,” Aziraphale said, noting something down on his papers. “A selection of hors d’oeuvres and light finger foods, then. Oh! A cheese board!”

Crowley closed his eyes and snuggled further under the covers, contentedly listening to the angel plan.

_It's a very big responsibility_ , said Clem.

 _Well, they want it to be a surprise_ , Datura said.

“Who should come?” Junior said, tapping the pencil against his chin.

“Adam,” Angelica said immediately.

“Warlock,” Rosa said firmly.

“Auntie Tracey.”

“Anathema and Newt.”

“Mr Jack at the flower shop,” Junior said. “Father likes talking to him there.”

 _And Ms Ellie. Ooh!_ said Datura. _We can get the flowers there too!_

“Mr Jack will do a lovely job,” Rosa agreed.

“Red roses,” Angelica said. “Father likes those.”

“And white for Azirafather,” Rosa added.

“No, we’re talking about _guests_ ,” Junior said. “We can do flowers next.”

 _Mr and Mrs Temple from the bakery,_ Clem said. The others nodded.

“Mrs Buckland from the library,” Rosa said. “And Father Kim from the church. Azirafather enjoys talking with him.”

 _Kelley from the bookshop,_ Datura suggested.

“This is going to be a good party,” Angelica said. “All the best people are going to be there!”

“Who else?” Junior said, writing.

The bell above the door of the stationer’s shop rang as Rosa and Datura went in.

“Morning!” Mrs MacGillivray said from somewhere in the back of the shop. “I’ll be with you in two ticks.”

“Good morning, Mrs MacGillivray,” Rosa said.

“Hello, Rosa! I’ll be right there.”

“No rush,” Rosa assured her. “We have to look around first anyway.”

“Here,” Datura said. “There are lots of cards. D’you think the flowery sort, or the kind with the geometric lines and shapes?”

“These ones have vines on them,” Rosa said. “They’re pretty.”

“What can I do for you today?” Mrs MacGillivray said, carrying a box to the front register. “Oh, good morning, Datura. I didn’t know you were here as well.”

“Hi, Mrs MacGillivray,” Datura said shyly.

“What are you looking for today?”

“Invitations,” said Rosa.

“A party? Lovely!” Mrs MacGillivray said. “How many? Six? A Dozen?”

“Somewhere around thirty, I think,” Rosa said seriously. “With extras, because I'm sure we’ll have forgotten people in the initial draft of the guest list.”

“So forty, then?” Mrs MacGillivray. “That’s quite the large party.”

“It’s going to be in the back garden,” Datura volunteered. “They wouldn’t fit in the house.”

“A garden party! How charming! And your fathers have let you choose the invitations?”

“Well, we’re organizing it,” Rosa said confidently. “Azirafather is handling the food, but everything else is to be a surprise. It’s like our present to them.”

“Present?”

“They’re getting married!” Rosa said happily. Mrs MacGillivray put a hand to her chest.

“Oh, how perfectly lovely! I didn’t know they weren’t already married!”

“Neither did we,” said Datura. “Father said they were already married in all the ways that mattered.”

“Oh, the dears,” Mrs MacGillivray said. “Well, then, as it’s a wedding, would you like to see samples of wedding invitations you can order?”

“We need to send them out really soon,” Datura said before Rosa could agree. She sighed; it would have been lovely to go through sample books. “If they’re just samples and we need to order them, I don’t think they’ll arrive in time.”

“Oh my, it’s that soon?”

“A month and a half,” Rosa said. “It’s very small and all happening in the back garden. We’ll have to handwrite them. That’s why Datura and I are here; we have the best handwriting, so we’re in charge of invitations.”

“We like these ones,” said Datura shyly. “With the vine wreaths on them?”

“They’re very pretty,” Mrs MacGillivray agreed. “Let me check to see if I have a few more boxes in the back.”

“If they’re not there, we’ll have to use different ones,” Rosa said. Datura touched her arm.

“I have an idea,” they said. “No one gets more than one invitation anyway. They’ll never know other people got different ones. We can pick all the different designs we like.”

Junior took a deep breath of the damp, earthy _green_ air as he stepped into the florist shop. He loved how that air felt on his skin, almost like his scales could relax into it. And the smell was one of the best smells in the world.

The greenhouse at home was Father’s space, and he always felt awkward going in there. Not that Father ever made him feel unwelcome; he was always willing to show all of them how to repot or prune or feed the plants they were interested in. Rosa had a little sweetheart rosebush—of course— and Angelica had a Venus flytrap. Clem liked to curl up in the greenery during thunderstorms if Father was working there. Junior had helped Father separate plants and start seedlings, and he’d enjoyed it—something about the feel of earth between his fingers and the gentle energy the plants had— but he was still very, very aware that it was Father’s space. Much like Azirafather’s study; everyone was welcome, but it was the angel’s domain.

Anyway. The florist shop was one of Junior’s favourite places. He didn’t get there often because he rarely had a reason, but he loved every moment he got to spend in it.

“Hello, how can we—Anthony!”

“Hi, Mr Jack,” said Junior.

“Ellie, it’s young Anthony,” the man said over his shoulder and came into the shop from the back room, wiping his hands on a cloth. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” said Junior.

“Hi, Anthony,” a young woman said, leaning out from the back room. “I’m just about to put the kettle on. A cup of tea?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Junior said, “but it was really nice of you to ask me.” Azirafather, he felt, would have been very impressed by his manners.

“Well, all right. But I have an awful lot of biscuits here as well; if they don’t get eaten soon they’ll go stale, and that would be a waste. We need help finishing them off. You’d be doing us a favour.”

“Oh. Well, if it would help…”

Junior was swept into the back of the shop where Mr Jack and Ms Ellie made arrangements and unpacked long boxes packed with flowers. It was the first time he'd ever been in it, and his eyes went wide, taking it all in. The worktables were covered with snips of ribbon, bits of greenery, and pretty shiny paper for wrapping arrangements. He perched on a stool happily and ate biscuits while he explained his errand.

“I need to order flowers. Lots of flowers,” he said.

“What’s the occasion?” Ms Ellie said. Junior drew himself up, a grin spreading across his face.

“Our dads are getting married!”

“Oh!” Ms Ellie said. “A renewal of vows! How romantic!”

Junior had no idea what that meant. “Azirafather says they’ve been together forever and Father says they’re already married in all the ways that count. But we think they deserve a special day to celebrate just them.”

“Everyone deserves that,” Mr Jack agreed.

“And you’re in charge of the flowers?” Ms Ellie said. Junior nodded importantly.

“They want it to be a surprise. So red roses for Father, and white for Azirafather. Lots of them. _Lashings_ of them.”

“Ah, classic.” Mr Jack rubbed his chin. “Roses are, well, very expensive, though, Anthony.”

“Oh.” Junior looked crestfallen.

“It’s a question of supply and demand,” Mr Jack explained. “Would you like to talk about some alternatives? You could still have roses, just as centrepieces of whatever arrangements you like, with different flowers around them.

“Would… would that look okay?”

“It's very commonly done,” Ms Ellie assured him. “Visually it’s very attractive, as well. Gives depth and contrast.”

“Let’s look at some pictures,” Mr Jack suggested, and Junior nodded, brow furrowed. He was determined to design the most beautiful arrangements, one for the main table, posies for each of his dads to carry, and flowers for everyone to wear. It would be perfect.

Angelica stepped into the patisserie, pausing a moment to appreciate the scent of sugar and butter and vanilla.

“I am on a very secret mission,” she said to Petra behind the counter.

“Picking up an eclair and millefeuille for Mr Fell?” Petra said with a wink.

“Oh, that’s a very good idea,” Angelica said. “And two strawberry tarts. And tear… tear mess you? Father likes to taste that one while Azirafather eats it.”

“Tiramisu, right,” Petra said. She folded a pastry box and began transferring pastries from the showcase. “And a little triple chocolate mousse?”

Angelica nodded happily.

“You’re short two,” Petra said. “He usually picks up eight.”

“What else does he like?”

“I’ll pop in an opera cake and a cream puff,” Petra said. “He likes those. There, mission accomplished. I’ll put it on his tab.”

“Oh, no,” Angelica said. “That’s not my mission! It's just a very good idea. And a way to explain why we came to town.”

“Oh? This sounds very dramatic.” Petra tied the box up with string and leaned on the counter, closer to her. “What role do I play in this mission?”

“Cupcakes,” Angelica whispered loudly. Petra grinned.

“Cupcakes?”

“We need to order cupcakes. Lots of them, with swirly icing and sparkles and sugar flowers on top. They’re going to be in a tower.”

“Goodness! What’s the occasion?”

“We’re having a birthday party for our fathers’ marriage next month! It’s a surprise!”

“An anniversary! How darling.” Petra took out a pad of order forms and a pen.

“All flavours,” Angelica said, getting excited. “And all colours on top. Super extra fancy. A hundred.”

“A hundred! How many are you each planning to eat?”

“We’re having people over,” Angelica explained. Although she was pretty sure she and her siblings could eat one hundred cupcakes all on their own, no problem.

“Ah,” Petra said, writing. “We can lend you a serving tower, if you like.”

Angelica did like. This was going to be an excellent party.

“What will you wear?”

“Pardon?”

“What will you wear?” Datura repeated. The others nodded around the dinner table.

Crowley blinked.

“Clothes, I assume. Did you have an alternative plan?”

“They have to be _fancy_ clothes, Father!” Angelica said.

“Fancy’s overrated,” Crowley scoffed, leaning back and hooking an arm over the backrest of his chair. “Besides, it’s going to be in the garden. I’ll already be working. I’ll just stand up in my grass-stained jeans and sweaty work shirt.”

There was a chorus of horrified replies, and over it Angelica’s voice appealed, “ _Azirafather_ , make him listen!”

“Oh, I can’t make your father do anything,” Aziraphale said calmly, inserting his fork into a piece of asparagus. “He’s hopeless. Might as well give up now, children.”

“Then you have to dress _extra_ fancy to make up for him,” Datura said.

“Such a hardship,” Crowley drawled. “Terribly stressful for someone who overdressed for a trip to revolutionary Paris once upon a time.”

“Yes, thank you, we know,” Aziraphale said primly, “and we know _why_ , so let’s leave that, hm?”

“Such pretty shoes,” Crowley said, swirling the wine in his glass slowly. “The heels did such _interesting_ things to your calves. Then there were all those buttons. And the lace cascading down under the cuffs of the ivory watered silk coat? An inspired touch.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said, but Rosa had perked up.

“Lace, Azirafather? May I see?”

“Oh, darling, I don’t have—”

“Are there pictures?” Datura interrupted. Angelica rolled her eyes.

“The French Revolution was a hundred years ago, pictures didn’t _exist_ then, Tura.”

“There are no pictures,” Crowley said, getting to his feet, “and that’s probably best for everyone involved, wouldn’t you say, angel?”

“ _Honestly_ , Crowley.”

Crowley smirked and began to slouch out of the kitchen. He paused, leaning down to Aziraphale’s ear, and breathed, “I’m the only one who saw it, and who knows why you wore it.”

“That’s quite enough,” Aziraphale said, his ears hot and his heart beating a bit faster than he was comfortable with. He pushed back his chair as Crowley left the kitchen. “Right then; who’s ready for dessert?”

Crowley laughed from the other room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quilly here! We may have vastly underestimated ourselves and our propensity for plot; this chapter is as big as the rest of the fic combined, with tomorrow promising to be pretty long, too. Hope you enjoy snaby shenanigans!

Petra was nodding off behind the register when Mr. Fell came in.

“Good afternoon, my dear,” Mr. Fell said, and Petra grinned, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Are we ready for the tasting today?”

“More than,” Petra replied, and straightened her apron. “You sit tight, I’ll bring out the samples.” It seemed odd to Petra that the Fell-Crowley clan would be having a proper cake on top of all those cupcakes for their anniversary, but whatever brought more business was hardly worth complaining about. Besides, Mr. Fell trying samples was somehow even more of an experience than his usual immersive way of eating; he seemed to be rolling each bite around his tongue for at least thirty seconds longer than strictly necessary, just to soak his entire mouth in the flavors.

“These are all exquisite, of course,” Mr. Fell said, and Petra grinned despite herself. “But ultimately, I think the chocolate and vanilla marble cake would be most suitable, especially if you pair it with this raspberry ganache. Positively sinful, my dear.”

“Will Mr. Crowley like it, though?” Petra asked, clearing away her sample tray and scribbling some notes about the order in her notebook.

“He will, I’m certain,” Mr. Fell nodded. “Though, if I left it to him and the children, I’m sure they’d find the most bizarre combination and insist on that.”

“Nothing wrong with an eclectic taste,” Petra smiled, making a mental note for the cupcake order. Angelica hadn’t been specific about the flavors of the cupcakes, just the decorations, but it was awfully sweet of Mr. Fell to let her be in charge of a certain part of their anniversary party. “I’ll call you to solidify a good delivery time on the big day, yeah?”

“If you would be so kind,” Mr. Fell nodded, and left with a cheery wave and an extra lemon-blueberry scone. Petra looked at her schedule and cracked her knuckles. A hundred cupcakes and a wedding cake wasn’t the tallest order she’d ever received, but it was up there; she’d better start ordering supplies now.

“Oh, look, Mr. S, how charming!” Madam Tracy said, waving the brightly-colored envelope from their mailbox in the air. “This one must be from the children.”

“Eh?” Shadwell grunted, snatching the envelope from Tracy’s hand and squinting at it. “What’s this, then?”

“Another invitation to dear Aziraphale and Crowley’s wedding, love,” Tracy said, plucking the more formal invitation from its place on the refrigerator and placing it on the table to join its fellow in Shadwell’s hand. “Looks like they sent out formal invitations and then let the kids make their own.”

“Aye,” Shadwell grunted again, only tearing the envelope a little as he wrestled the embossed invitation from it. Tracy beamed as Shadwell placed it on the table and the two invitations sat side-by-side, one plain and elegant in Aziraphale’s lovely handwriting, one colorful and covered in marker-rendered snakes with wings, the handwriting less elegant but similar. “Least they’re both for the same date, otherwise it’d be a mess.”

“We should dust off your old uniform, you’d look ever so dapper in it on the big day,” Tracy said, and smiled at the pink blotching across Shadwell’s face. He muttered and mumbled to himself as he immersed himself in the newspaper but didn’t disagree or argue. Tracy slid the invitations towards herself and compared them. All the information was in order, though Tracy did notice that her and Shadwell’s names and address on the envelope from the children included some rogue hearts and flowers. Tracy smiled. Such darlings.

“I’m telling you, Father, you can’t just wear your pajamas or your gardening kit to your wedding,” Rosa argued fiercely from the back seat of the Bentley. Crowley let Rosa have her tirade, which she had been on for the last two and a half weeks without reprieve, and Crowley still found it immensely entertaining. Not quite as entertaining as Aziraphale declaring that his waistcoat was good enough to visit Heaven and the Queen in and so should be good enough for his wedding, that had seen Rosa actually turn speechless, but Crowley knew for a fact that Aziraphale had wanted him and the children out of the house today to go through his old catalogue of clothing, and so Crowley had his own plan for the day.

“It’s gauche,” Rosa concluded, and folded her arms. Her siblings around her heaved a sigh. Clem and Datura, coiled in the front seat, actually poked their heads out from under their coils, sensing she was done.

“I see,” Crowley said, and made a turn. “And what will you do about it if that’s what happens?”

“I shall be very cross,” Rosa sniffed, “and I’ll steal your phone and take all the pictures so you can see how ridiculous you are.”

“Very grim,” Crowley said, and slid into a parking space that technically didn’t exist, but would more than do for the Bentley. “I suppose you’ll want to see where we are, then.”

Rosa, sitting in between Junior and Angelica, craned over Junior’s lap to look out and up, and gasped. Crowley grinned.

“Father!” Rosa cried, her voice delighted for the first time in days.

“Is this a dress shop?” Junior groaned. “Do we have to go in?”

“What, you don’t want to help me pick something out to wear for Azirafather?” Crowley said, and Junior’s expression turned thoughtful as Datura shifted in the front seat, Clem in their lap, and joined Rosa’s shrieks of excitement. “Reckon we could find things for you kids, too, if you’d like.”

 _Do they make clothes for snakes?_ Clem asked, curling around Datura’s shoulders.

“We can always ask,” Crowley reasoned. “Sure you want to stay like that for this?”

 _Yes,_ Clem said firmly. Crowley let it go. It was nothing to let loose a small miracle to make sure a great black snake wasn’t a thing of interest to the general public—or at least not an object of fear. They had had a recent scare with one of the local farmers and a garden hoe, but it shouldn’t be a problem in a city as big as London. Weird pets were part of the crush of humanity in spots like this.

Crowley directed his brood into the boutique and met their consultant for the day, a cheery woman who seemed relieved Crowley was bringing children and not, say, several Irish-Italian maiden aunts and single older sisters. She also didn’t blink an eye at Crowley’s request for black gowns, though she did give a rather pained smile at Junior running his hands over skirts of the rack of gowns closest to him, and Angelica and Rosa seizing upon a mannequin with a fluffy white monstrosity of a dress draped over it.

“Alright, alright, spawn, go sit tight on the couch and don’t move,” Crowley said, and the children obeyed, to his satisfaction. He squatted in front of them, passing his handbag to Datura. “If we’re good here, we’ll stop at the really good gelato place on the way home. If you see something you want me to try, get Cindy’s attention and don’t go off exploring on your own.” He glared meaningfully at Junior in particular, who beamed and shrugged.

“If you’ll come this way, Miss Crowley,” Cindy the consultant said, and Crowley smiled at her rather more toothily than was required. The woman didn’t even flinch. She was clearly a professional. That, or Crowley had overdone it with his “notice nothing” miracle for Clem.

The first dress Crowley came out in was white, which he had to sit with for a minute in complete silence before letting Cindy put him in it.

“We can get these made in black, if you decide you like them,” Cindy explained, loosening the laces of the bodice.

“In four weeks?” Crowley asked, and Cindy nodded.

“If you can handle the express fees, then it’s no trouble,” she said. Crowley very privately would rather talk to the seamstress team about that, but, realizing there was nothing to be done about it at the moment, finally sucked in a breath to lock behind his teeth and let Cindy slide the white silk up over his body.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared.

In point of fact, Crowley thought as he gathered up the poofy skirt to go model for his children, he didn’t look half bad in it.

“Oh, Father!” Rosa cried, holding her hands to her heart. “You look so pretty!”

“Thanks,” Crowley said around a lopsided grin, and hopped up on the little stage he was supposed to be modeling upon. He smoothed out the folds of the dress—a classic a-line skirt with some layers to it, sweetheart neckline, beaded bodice, simple stuff—and turned himself this way and that, looking himself over critically. “What do we think, spawn?”

“Not really like you,” Junior said, yawning. “It’s boring.”

 _It’s a little weird to see you in that color,_ Clem observed. _In a good way, I think._

“More sparkle,” Angelica declared.

“Either way more skirt, or much tighter skirt,” Datura nodded.

“Noted,” Crowley said, stepping back to Cindy. “Come on, then, let’s find something else.”

The mermaid cut gown was much more dramatic, but Crowley wasn’t a huge fan of how hard it was to move in it—like he was stuck inside his own snakeskin (which had happened before. Not pleasant). “It makes your bum look bigger but I don’t think Azirafather would like it,” Rosa had said around a couch of turned-up noses. Quite right, that.

The one black dress in the lineup Cindy pulled was a flapper dress, not truly vintage but in the style, with nylon fringe and black glass beading. Crowley bit his lip. He liked this one a lot, actually. Maybe not for a wedding dress, but for a night out, perhaps. Angelica said as much when he came out in it, and Crowley made sure to replicate the fun shimmy bits of the few 1920s dances he could remember for their entertainment.

“It’s pretty, but it’s not it,” Junior declared, sometime around the fourth dress having shed his disdain and now fully invested in the trip. “Try something more…Rosa, what’s that one term? The one that means artsy-fartsy?”

“Avant-garde,” Rosa said, and lit up. “Ooh, Father, could you?”

Crowley looked over at Cindy. “Well?”

“I have one thing I think would fall in that category,” Cindy said gamely, and Crowley grinned. “Let’s try on one more while I go pull that one.”

Crowley faffed about in a confection with mutton-leg sleeves straight from the depths of the 1980s and made faces while the children laughed as he waited for Cindy to make her selection; her face was one of determined cheer when she came back to fetch him. “Miss Crowley? If you could follow me, I think we have something that might interest you.”

“Let’s hope so,” Crowley said, making one last face at a streaming-eyed Datura and hopping off the stage.

Cindy stripped him out of the puffy-sleeved gown faster than she’d gotten him from any of the others while Crowley considered the new addition to the lineup.

“Interesting color,” Crowley commented.

“Is it a problem?” Cindy asked as she bagged up the last gown.

“Not at all,” Crowley said. “In fact…might not have to remake this one, actually. If it fits.”

As Cindy helped him into it, Crowley was surprised to find that it fit like a glove. Cindy had a triumphant sort of smile as she fixed up the button closures and smoothed down the fabric.

“Shall we show the little ones?” she asked gently as Crowley stared at himself in the mirror. He nodded vaguely, unable to tear his eyes away from himself. This wasn’t vanity, exactly. He didn’t know what it was.

Something about the walk out to the kids did something to Crowley’s insides, because his eyes were stinging something fierce as he approached them. Clem was already nodding his snakey head with clear enthusiasm. Rosa clapped her hands over her mouth. Junior and Angelica were holding onto each other, Junior shaking Angelica with excitement. Datura was still weepy-eyed and didn’t appear to be able to stop. Crowley stepped up onto the stage with more dignity than ever before as he adjusted the gown around him, smoothing it down again, running his fingers over the details.

“How do you feel about it, Father?” Rosa asked carefully when none of the kids offered any commentary. Crowley looked at himself, in this dress he wasn’t expecting, and saw with displeasure that his mascara had the gall to run on him, not that he could see it very much from the soft, gooey feeling in his chest that only spread as he thought about walking down the proverbial aisle towards Aziraphale while wearing this exact dress.

Crowley nodded, emphatically and with many attempts at speech, and couldn’t even be mad about Cindy’s smug little grin as he turned around and opened his arms to gather as many of the kids as he could into a hug (which, it turned out, was all of them).

“We’ll take it,” Crowley said hoarsely. “As-is.”

“One wedding gown as-is it is, then,” Cindy said serenely. Crowley was a bit too busy with getting his emotions under control to be perturbed about it. He’d have the chance to watch Cindy squirm once she realized they were also her second appointment of the day—the kids needed nice clothes for the wedding too, after all.

Time passed awfully quickly, it seemed to Datura. Between Father measuring their heads with lengths of wire for some secret project he kept on lockdown in the greenhouse, to airing out old linens Azirafather had put away long ago that needed delicate touches, the weekend Angelica had long been calling the Wedding Weekend (Wahoo!) approached. As luck would have it, Warlock and Adam were off on break and were able, through a cunning plan that included Junior not-so-subtly and extremely loudly asking Father and Azirafather if Warlock and Adam could stay over and checking with parents, to stay with them a whole week before the Wedding Weekend. Datura was personally happy about this, having been the first person to see that Warlock needed friends maybe even more than they and their siblings did. Warlock and Adam had never met before, but it seemed to Datura that they didn’t like each other much.

(This was not entirely correct, as Adam was friendly to everyone and seemed to be trying extra hard for Warlock, but Datura had once sat on the garden wall and watched a happy dog try and befriend a prickly cat for an entire afternoon, and it seemed to them that much the same principle was at work here. Adam was all smiles and suggestions on fun activities that included everyone, and Warlock glowered from dark corners and listened to cool music and pretended to not be having nearly as much fun as he was whenever collective begging got him involved in their games.)

Father and Azirafather were having something called a rehearsal dinner, which was supposedly something that was done to make sure the actual wedding didn’t go wrong. Datura thought (and their siblings agreed) that it was an excuse to have the rest of the experimental punch out in the garden before the tables were set. But before they could get to that part, Datura, Rosa, Angelica, Warlock, and Father were all crammed into Father’s bathroom, his and Warlock’s combined cosmetics spread over the vanity, and Warlock was applying eyeshadow with a steady hand and a critical eye. Datura was fascinated by the whole process.

“How did you learn how to do this?” Datura asked as Warlock tilted Father’s face up towards the light and inspected his work.

“YouTube,” Warlock said. “Needed some pointers after I started buying the stuff. Seemed stupid to buy it just to piss off my dad and then not even use it.” Father made a pleased sort of hum and squinted one eye open, only for Warlock to tut at him. “Keep ‘em closed, I haven’t even found the eyeliner I want to use yet.”

“Can you do us too?” Rosa asked. “For the wedding?”

“Sure,” Warlock shrugged, selecting something that looked like a fancy pen.

“I think just a little shimmer around the eyes is plenty for you kiddos,” Father said as Warlock began outlining a sharp-tipped wing across Father’s eyelid.

“Maybe some highlight across the cheekbones,” Warlock said, taking his eyes off Father and giving Datura and their sisters a small smile. “Nanny gave you squirts good ones.”

Rosa sighed dramatically and patted her round cheeks, which were more akin to Azirafather’s, and Datura nudged her and grinned. Warlock got the other eye done, then fanned at least three different mascaras across Father’s lashes. Then he got a spray bottle and spritzed Father’s face with something he called “setting spray,” and declared him done.

“You doing your own hair, too?” Warlock asked, and Father stretched in his chair, looking himself over and obviously preening.

“I’ve got it for today,” Father nodded, and snapped his fingers. His messy bun undid itself and configured itself into lovely finger curls, and Father grinned as Warlock rolled his eyes.

“Cheater,” Warlock informed him, and began gathering up his makeup.

“To the bone,” Father nodded. “Alright, some makeup for the spawn, and then you all need to get out so I can get dressed.”

“Can’t you just snap your fingers and take care of it?” Warlock asked innocently, and Datura covered their giggles as Father squinted at him.

Rosa went first and picked an understated dusty gold eyeshadow for herself. Angelica took her time, but some subtle sparkles caught her eye and Warlock obliged. Datura looked over the palettes presented and bit their lip.

“This one?” they asked, pointing at the void-black eyeshadow that had seen quite a bit of use, judging by the bottom of the pan peeking out of the darkness. Father looked and laughed.

“Might be a bit dark for tomorrow, but I don’t mind if you try it out tonight,” Father said, and Warlock quirked a grin at Datura.

“The key to wearing this one,” Warlock said as he began dabbing his brush in the pan, “is confidence.” He was gentle about holding their head steady as he stroked the brush over their closed eyes. It was pokier than Datura was expecting, but they thought they rather liked it. “Alright. See how that looks.”

Datura blinked open their eyes and looked to the mirror, and gasped. They looked a little bit like a raccoon, but cooler, somehow—their eyes looked like burnished gold with all the dark shadow surrounding them.

“I love it,” they said quietly, and Father snorted and ruffled their hair.

“A baby goth after my own heart,” Warlock said, and Datura didn’t quite know what that meant but they beamed anyway. 

Datura and the others were banished from Father’s bathroom and instead went to help Azirafather bring their picnic dinner out to the bare tables in the garden. They didn’t know where all the tables and chairs had come from, but they were there all the same, ready to be decorated for tomorrow.

“How lovely you all look,” Azirafather praised as he and Adam came outside, carrying trays as Warlock set out cups. “And Datura! How distinguished!” Datura flushed happily as Azirafather cupped their chin and tilted it up, grinning at them. “Did you know, it used to be a sign of great status and prosperity to line your eyes in black?”

“Great sign of rebellion these days,” Warlock said, and Azirafather rolled his eyes but didn’t lose his smile.

“Perhaps a bit of that, too,” Azirafather conceded. “You look beautiful, my dear one.”

“Thank you,” Datura said softly, and busied themself with helping set out cold cuts from Adam’s tray.

Father eventually came out of the house in a short black dress Datura recognized as similar to the one in the dress shop with all the fringe, but this one was different. The fringe looked heavier and swung more dramatically, and the beading winked less like glass and more like jewels. Datura grinned as Azirafather put his hand over his heart and sighed, looking lovesick as Father minced across the back garden in his bare feet, snake scales and all. Azirafather, who was in his usual but with his coat gone and sleeves rolled up, reached out and caught Father by the hand, bringing it to his lips as Father posed.

“Had it tucked away for a rainy day,” Father said in that careless tone of voice that meant he cared quite a bit, actually.

“Oh, I don’t think the sky would dare, with you looking like that,” Azirafather said fervently. Junior made a loud retching sound and broke up the moment pretty effectively, though no amount of bellyaching from any of them could damper the stars in their dads’ eyes. Datura liked it that way.

After they made and ate their sandwiches, there was actual rehearsing to be done, as it turned out. The aisle was already set up, with the rose arbor being the end point (Rosa had generously offered her favorite spot for the ceremony, and Father and Azirafather had accepted in that way that meant they appreciated it even if it hadn’t really been Rosa’s decision to make). Adam pulled up the song they were going to walk down the aisle to on his phone and played it while Azirafather directed them.

“Now, girls, you two will be going first,” Azirafather said, passing Rosa and Angelica baskets that tomorrow would be full of fresh flower petals. “Just walk slow and steady, to the beat of the song. Make sure you’re in sync.”

Rosa had a serene sort of smile on her face that was incongruous with Angelica’s determined scowl, but the two of them had always had it easiest walking in tandem even if they bickered about it.

“Smile, Gel,” Datura called, and Angelica scowled for real in their direction and stuck out her tongue.

“Next will be Clem,” Azirafather said as soon as Rosa and Angelica separated at the end of the aisle, Rosa to stand by Azirafather and Angelica to stand by Father. Clem, who had been entrusted with the embroidered cushion that would hold the rings tomorrow, slithered with grace and only a little bashful head-ducking. The cushion dangled from his mouth by ribbons, and though Clem was careful, the cushion was swinging wide enough that the rings would surely go flying if he did it that way. Datura said so.

“Yeah, try to go a little slower, Clem,” Adam encouraged, and Clem attempted to follow this advice. The end result was that he was too slow for the music, and he seemed aware of this fact as he slithered to Azirafather’s side of the procession and set down the cushion before coiling in on himself.

“You did beautifully, Clem, don’t fret,” Azirafather said warmly. “Then Datura and Junior will follow up the rear…”

It was difficult, trying to keep pace with the music and walk in time with Junior at the same time. Sometime around their third go, they wound up with more of an inside leg-outside leg approach that wouldn’t have been out of place in a three-legged race, and Azirafather said that was good enough.

“I think this is going to be wonderful,” Azirafather said, swelling with pride, and the wide grin on Father’s face said much the same. Datura didn’t even feel embarrassed about their mistakes, with their parents looking so happy.

There was a telephone ring from inside.

“Oh, who could that be?” Azirafather said, and started for the house. “Take five, everyone, I’ll sort this out.”

“Take five?” Warlock snorted. “Who’s been teaching him semi-modern slang?”

“Daytime television,” Father said. Azirafather didn’t come back out for a few minutes, which Datura only registered because they and their siblings and Adam and Warlock got pretty far into a game of chopsticks by the time Azirafather came back out, a downcast look on his face.

“Angel?” Father said, drawing attention to Azirafather and away from the game. “What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s silly,” Azirafather said with a weak smile. “It’s…it’s just…oh, Crowley, the Ritz canceled.”

“Canceled,” Father repeated, with a rather menacing air. “What—canceled?”

“It seems there was a catastrophic disaster in the kitchen today,” Azirafather sighed. “They had to close for a couple hours and everything while they sorted it out—some sort of appliance failure overnight. Our catering was ruined.” He smiled and pulled in a sharp breath. “It’s nothing, it’s silly, we can just—supermarket run and it’ll be right as rain, you know—”

“Azirafather, we’re sorry,” Rosa said, trotting to Azirafather’s side and hugging him. Azirafather gave a wobbly smile as Crowley snuggled up under his other arm and one by one Datura and their siblings followed.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said again, a bit fainter this time.

“I know how much you were looking forward to it, angel,” Crowley said gently. “Still Plan B, if you’d like.”

“No, you know I’d rather not—no,” Azirafather sighed. “We’ll run to the store in the morning for some food. Or—or we can just hope the cake will be enough, cut the ceremony short—”

“No,” Father shook his head, and Junior repeated it emphatically.

“Warlock and I could take care of it, if you’d like,” Adam said suddenly, and Datura looked up at Warlock’s suspicious squint as Adam smiled. “Nearest supermarket isn’t that far on our bikes, we can go in the morning and be back in plenty of time with something. Won’t be the Ritz, but it’ll still be good.”

“Yes,” Azirafather nodded, “yes, alright, that’s—alright.” And Azirafather put on a brave face, but it was obvious to everyone how out of sorts he was for the rest of the night. The only thing that got the sad tinge out of his face was Father dancing with them when Warlock hijacked the rehearsal due to boredom and played his bebops, and even then he still had a look of longing on his face whenever Father specifically was out of his eyeline.

Datura frowned. This wouldn’t do at all.

Much later, goodnight kisses had and faces washed and Father and Azirafather slow dancing in the living room downstairs to a soft jazz record Father had dug up from somewhere, Datura gathered their siblings and snuck across the hall in their scales. Much easier to be quiet when one didn’t weight quite so much and could avoid the squeaky floorboards. Datura tapped their nose on Clem’s bedroom door, where Adam and Warlock were bunking, and Adam let them in. Warlock seemed used to them transforming by now as five snakes entered his room and turned into children, and for that Datura was grateful, at least.

“I have an idea,” they said. “What if we surprise Azirafather tomorrow with the Ritz?”

“The Ritz lost their catering,” Warlock said gently. “Even if we somehow showed up—and I don’t know that we could, how would we even get to London?—the Ritz wouldn’t just have their catering magically ready to go.”

“Azirafather didn’t want Father or himself to magic the food up,” Angelica said slowly. “He might not know if, say, one of us calls ahead and just…makes it happen.”

“I still have Azirafather’s list from when I helped make the placards,” Rosa said.

“Alright, maybe you guys can do it,” Warlock said, “but how would it get here?”

“Same way it was always going to get here,” Datura declared. “We’ll take the Bentley.”

A ringing silence followed this statement.

“What, just…take it?” Junior said, as though this idea had never occurred to him before.

“Would she even let you?” Angelica asked.

“She?” Warlock frowned, then seemed to just accept it.

“She drives herself all the time,” Datura nodded. “If, say, me and Junior and maybe Clem all go, the Bentley could take us, no problem.”

“Hang on,” Adam said, “you’re not going by yourselves, that’s mental.”

“So go with them,” Rosa said. “You’re older, you and Warlock, that would be enough supervision where they couldn’t get in too much trouble.”

“We’re not old enough to drive,” Warlock objected. “We could get arrested.”

“Nobody’s ever been arrested in the Bentley,” Datura said stoutly.

“I want to go, too,” Angelica said sourly.

“We need people to stay here and distract Father and Azirafather,” Datura shook their head. “You and Rosa are in charge of that. Besides, your cupcakes are coming, remember?”

“Oh, and my flowers,” Junior added. “But I already know what those look like, Mr. Jack and Ms. Ellie know where to take them.”

“Fine,” Angelica sighed. “But you owe me big time.”

“Nuh-uh, Father and Azirafather do,” Datura grinned. “So it’s settled, then. Adam and Warlock will help me, Junior, and Clem drive the Bentley to the Ritz to get food, and we’ll drive back and save Father and Azirafather’s wedding.”

“Sounds like fun,” Adam said brightly. Datura looked at Warlock, who looked like he deeply wanted to disagree on principle but merely sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m in.”

Datura beamed.

The morning of the wedding dawned golden and clear, with the promise of a beautiful day to follow.

Adam snuck several sandwiches from the night before out of the fridge, then met his cohorts in the garage, where the Bentley was settled and looking ready for an adventure as any vehicle Adam had ever laid eyes on. This would work. He was confident in that much. He raised up the garage door as quietly as one could do these things (which, given who he was and where he was, was very quietly indeed).

Warlock was already in the driver’s seat, and once Adam settled in the passenger seat, Datura reached up from the back and passed Warlock the keys.

“These might help,” Datura said. “Father never uses them, but they might help anyway.”

“Right,” Warlock shook his head, and put the key in the ignition. The Bentley started up with a low thrum, and Warlock shifted into reverse as he put down the parking brake. Adam watched him maneuver out of the driveway with ease and practice, and Warlock glared at him with flush crawling up his neck.

“What,” he growled. “I said we were too young to drive, not that I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Adam said around a big smile, and with an excited hum of the engine, they tore off for London and the Ritz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's OlwenDylluan to finish and I don't know about y'all but I have great hopes for this! A heist, a wedding, and a wrap-up for all this tomfoolery, it's gonna be so much fun!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are invited to witness the union of the princess and the hero. We mean, er, Aziraphale and Crowley.
> 
> Assuming everyone can get to the right place at the right time, and all the tangled strands of parallel planned weddings can be unravelled and arranged in some sort of orderly fashion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, Wiggleverse. We love each and every one of you: the writers who splash about in this 'verse, the artists who create such gorgeous illustrations, and the readers who squeal and write amazing meta and encourage us so much.

Crowley was up just after dawn, assembling the final touches on his floral offerings. He had decided to flout earthly seasons and create potted magnolia trees in full bloom, branches of forsythia, morning glory vines twining around wreath-like hoops set in topiary planters, buckets of tulips in all colours, daffodils and hyacinths, freesias, and various other impossible things for the time of year. Deep red carnations, white alstroemeria, Queen Anne’s Lace, and astilbe were standing in water to be tied into a bouquet with pale blue, cream, and black ribbons to present to Aziraphale. He had tiny pink sweetheart roses laid out for Rosa's hair, lilies of the valley for Datura and Angelica, and boutonnière of herbs for Junior with a bit of gypsophila. For Clem he had wrapped one tiny, red sweetheart rosebud with a single gypsophila flower and a snip of fern. He’d enjoyed tailoring things to the children and their personalities. He had a series of canning jars ready for bunches of wildflower-like cuttings to put on the table, as well.

This wasn’t a formal thing, after all, despite Rosa’s attempts to push it in that direction. (She had convinced Aziraphale to make little cards for the guests outlining the order of events, and menus, and who knew what else.) And he found himself rather liking the laid-back feel of it all. He’d assumed Aziraphale would be all over the formal elaborate vibe, but in a charming reversal, Aziraphale had completely embraced the back garden pledging ceremony idea. The only thing that had darkened the whole affair was the unfortunate tragedy in the kitchens of the Ritz. Well, Crowley reasoned, picking up some of the flowers and greenery and laying them against a loop of florist wire, that would just mean they’d have to have another wedding at some point, during which he could positively shower his husband in Ritz cuisine. For now, they would open their champagne and wine, have some cheese and crackers and grapes with half a dozen… friends, Aziraphale would call them, and it would be fine. Lovely, even.

He began wrapping the stems against the wire with florist tape, and overlapped another bunch over the first stems. He paused and looked over at his pile of materials and the flowers for Aziraphale’s little bouquet, standing in water. What if he… yes. It would take a bit of thought to revamp his plan, but he could do it.

Aziraphale opened the door to the knock to see Petra bearing a large box.

“Ah, good morning, my dear!” he said, beaming and stepping out of the way. “Would you be so kind as to carry it through to the kitchen for me?”

“Of course, Mr Fell,” she said with a grin, stepping past him. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely heavenly,” he said happily, following her.

“It’s like you ordered it specially.”

“Well,” he said, his mouth quirking, “I don’t have that kind of pull among the holy. I’d call it a happy accident.”

“Just here?”

“Yes, right there.”

Petra placed the box on the table and beckoned him over. He joined her, and she opened the box and let him peek in. He clasped his hands.

“Oh, my dear, it’s lovely. Just spectacular! You’re such an artist.”

“You’re very kind,” she said, smiling. “Let’s hope the taste lives up to the presentation, yes?”

“I have every faith in you,” he said, patting her shoulder.

“I just need to step out and get the other boxes,” she said. “Won’t be a moment.”

“Of course," he said, peeking into the box again. It was a lovely little cake, nothing extravagant. There were only going to be a dozen people, and it wasn’t an enormous formal event. The simplicity and elegance suited the occasion. He gave a happy little wiggle in anticipation, thinking about the perfect sweet-tart balance of the raspberry ganache inside.

Then he blinked. Other boxes?

“Here we are, Mr Fell,” Petra called cheerily from the door. She came through with two boxes stacked in her hands. “I’ve got the other two still in the van.”

“The… other two,” he said.

“Well, I could hardly fit all hundred in just these,” she laughed. “Twenty-four in each box, and then six in a regular take-home box. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale looked at the white boxes next to the cake box in a bit of a daze. A hundred of… what? He didn’t remember ordering anything else. Had he? Had he ordered more in a fit of cake euphoria?

“And the last two, with the bakery box,” Petra said as she returned. “It was a lot of fun, I must say. It was terribly sweet of you, you know. Not many people would share that kind of trust about an event like this.”

“Oh, quite?” he said distractedly. Petra opened the small bakery box and tilted it toward him, beaming.

Six cupcakes lay inside, with fantastic swirls of buttercream atop them. They were dusted with very fine silver and gold glitter, but what made Aziraphale catch his breath was the galaxy-like swirls of purple, blue, apricot, and pale rose in the buttercream itself. With a silver pearl here and there, they looked like miniature nebulae.

“Oh, my dear girl,” he said breathlessly. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“You like them?”

“They’re exquisite.”

Petra glowed.

“Now, as per my orders, they’re all different flavours of cake and buttercream; they all look like variations on this design, but no one will be able to tell the flavour combo. A bit of a mischievous game, I suspect.”

“Ah,” he said. He was still at a complete loss as to why one hundred of these miniature miracles were on his kitchen table. Petra snapped her fingers.

“I almost forgot! I have two cupcake towers in the van for displaying and serving them. I’ll bring those in as well. Or would you prefer them in the garden?”

“Ah, yes, quite, the garden,” Aziraphale said, blinking. Petra jogged out to the front again. He heard her talking to one of the children out back a minute later, then she leaned in the kitchen door.

“Righto, Mr Fell! I’ll see you later, then.”

“Of course,” he said, still at a loss. “Thank you so much, my dear; you’ve done a splendid job and we can’t thank you enough.”

“The invoice for the second half of the bill will land in your post within the week,” she said cheekily. “That’s enough thanks. But truly, it was a lovely experience, and I’m honoured that you chose our little patisserie to make your cakes for your special day.”

She went off back through the garden. When Crowley came in later to wash his hands, he found Aziraphale sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, hands folded across his waistcoat, gazing at the boxes on the table with a faint air of bewilderment.

“That all cake?” he said, turning on the water.

“Apparently.” Aziraphale shook his head helplessly.

“Bit overenthusiastic, weren’t you.”

“I don’t _think_ I was,” he said. “I honestly don’t remember ordering one hundred cupcakes as well as the wedding cake itself.”

“ _One hundred?”_ Crowley said. Then he began to snicker. “Quite the lapse of memory, that, angel.”

“How are we going to eat an entire wedding cake and one hundred cupcakes?” Aziraphale said helplessly. Crowley chortled and snagged one from the small open box.

“Pretty sure all the kids will make a healthy dent in them. These are pretty, angel.” He took a bite.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested. “Those are for the wedding this afternoon!”

“Angel,” he replied around a mouthful of buttercream, “no one is going to notice that a single cupcake is missing among the _eight dozen_.” Then he held the cupcake enticingly in front of Aziraphale’s mouth. “It’s terribly good,” he invited. “And you need to keep up your strength today.”

“Hardly,” Aziraphale sniffed, but he met Crowley’s eyes and took a bite anyway. He licked his lips thoughtfully. Lemon cake with strawberry buttercream? “It is good,” he murmured. “I suppose we could freeze some…”

“GPS says to turn here,” Adam said, eyes on Warlock’s phone in his hand.

Warlock took a deep breath and flicked the turn signal on. The Bentley purred approvingly, guiding them sedately to the left toward the exit.

“We’re making good time,” said Adam, glancing at Warlock. Warlock gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “We’re fine. Relax.”

“Says the kid who won’t get arrested if we’re caught,” Warlock said through tight lips.

“I told you, no one has ever been arrested in the Bentley,” Datura said. “She takes really good care of us.”

“You’ve done something this idiotic before?” said Warlock, teeth clenched.

“Well, no,” Datura said.

“Plenty of other idiotic stuff,” Junior volunteered cheerfully. Adam turned his surprised laugh into a clearing of his throat. Warlock’s face made an odd twitch, like it wanted to grin but couldn’t because the jaw muscles were too tight.

 _I don’t think it’s idiotic,_ volunteered Clem. _I think it’s brave._

Warlock’s jaw relaxed slightly, Adam noticed, and he smiled to himself.

Navigating the streets of London was not for the faint-hearted. Warlock managed it with the help of the Bentley, who avoided most situations before they could become problems. Once or twice she gently resisted his efforts to turn or brake or speed up, and did something different; Warlock was slightly taken aback, but the younger ones assured him this was typical of the car and to trust her. Likewise, when she guided them to a parking space that Warlock was pretty sure wasn’t a parking space at all, the others piled out and then turned back to look at him hovering by the car.

“That’s it?” he said. “We just… leave the car?”

Datura came back and nodded. “It’s okay, I promise. She takes care of herself. It’s because of all the being with Father she’s done.”

Even cars would do what Nanny expected of them. Warlock nodded back.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

He drew himself up, shoulders back, chin out, and it was like an invisible mantle of adulthood settled over him. There was a haughtiness but also a confidence. Junior watched closely; this could come in handy. Clem wrapped around Datura’s waist, and they pulled their button-down shirt out of their skirt to cover him.

They walked into the Ritz, and Warlock led them straight to the reception desk.

“Good day,” he said. “We’re here to pick up a catering order for Fell?”

The receptionist blinked.

“I’m sorry, that order and delivery was cancelled yesterday afternoon. There was equipment failure, and everything prepared or in progress was spoiled; there were several orders that had to be cancelled, and the restaurants had to be closed as well. All deposits will, of course, be refunded in full.”

Warlock smiled, managing to look understanding and confidently expectant at the same time. Junior found it fascinating.

“It’s my understanding that the kitchens went to extra lengths to assemble an order of hors d’oeuvres and amuse-bouches for the Fell account, to be ready for ten o’clock this morning.”

“That… can’t possibly be correct,” the receptionist said. Warlock smiled again.

“I suggest you call down to verify.”

He stepped back politely while the receptionist reached for the communication system, touching her earpiece with a frown. She turned away and spoke in a low voice. The younger ones exchanged worried glances, while Adam stood easily, his hands in his pockets, a faint grinon his face.

The receptionist turned around, looking dazed.

“The order for Fell is ready,” she said. “Do… do you need—”

“Our car is right outside,” Warlock said, a generous smile on his face. “We greatly appreciate your time.”

Junior and Datura exchanged excited looks, while Clem wiggled against Datura’s waist. Kitchen staff brought up hampers and carried them out to the Bentley, packing them neatly into the boot. Warlock tipped them—this impressed the younger ones to no end, while Adam lifted an amused eyebrow—and everyone got back in the car.

“We did it!” Junior burst out as soon as the doors were closed. Datura cheered, while Adam and Warlock exchanged relieved smiles.

“That was awesome,” Adam said to him. Warlock shrugged.

“You’re around conceited businessmen and politicians enough, you absorb the persona.” He crooked a lopsided grin. “This is the first time I haven’t used it for evil, though.”

Adam laughed, and Warlock’s crooked grin turned into an actual smile. He pushed his hair back from his face and put the key in the ignition.

“Okay, girl,” he said. “We need to get this home for Nanny’s wedding. Let’s make it happen.”

“Junior!” Crowley shouted. He walked through the house, looking from side to side.

“Oh,” Angelica said, trying to pull a leaf out of her hair. “I just saw him. He… he’s in the woods.”

“What the blazes is he doing there?” Crowley said. Angelica shrugged.

“He said something about finding pine cones to pile around the rose arbour?”

“Pine cones?” Crowley looked flabbergasted. It was, Angelica thought, a rather amusing expression to see on Father’s face. “It’s two hours to the wedding, and he went foraging for conifer droppings?”

Angelica shrugged again, rather enjoying this. “You know Anthony, none of us can talk him out of anything.”

“Too right, that,” Crowley allowed. He scrubbed at his hair. “Right, I need you, then, since you’re here. I want you to—”

The doorbell interrupted him.

“No,” he groaned. “Don’t let anyone be bloody _early_.” He blinked and pointed at her. “Stay. Don’t move.”

He turned and strode to the door, throwing it open with a snapped, “Yes?”

“Why, it’s Mr Crowley himself,” someone said from behind a tall arrangement of flowers and greenery. “Congratulations on your special day, sir!”

“John?” Crowley said. “What are you doing?”

“Delivering your surprise,” the florist said. “Should I bring them through, or go round the back to the garden?”

“What?” Crowley said. Angelica grinned.

“Let’s take them to the back garden, Mr John!” she said. “I can help!”

She slipped past Crowley, who was opening and closing his mouth without saying a thing, and darted out the door. Mr John let her lift some of the smaller table arrangements out of the open van, and she led him around the side of the house to the back garden.

“Oh, this will be right pretty,” he said, putting the large arrangement down at one end of the long table that had been set up for the food. “Didn’t your brother do a lovely job?”

“He did,” Angelica said, surprised. They went to fetch the second big arrangement, and Angelica carried the box with the boutonnières and small bouquets for her fathers into the house. Crowley stood outside the front door, eyeing the florist’s van.

“All right, then, Mr Crowley?” Mr John said, sliding the van door shut.

“Mmm,” Crowley said. “John, look, we didn’t—”

The man waved a dismissive hand at him as he opened the driver’s door.

“I did say it was a surprise,” he said. “Well, give my best to Mr Fell. We’ll be back later.”

The van pulled out of the drive, and Crowley watched it go, his brow furrowed.

“Why later?” he said to himself. Angelica laced her fingers together in front of her virtuously. “To pick up the pots and vases, I assume?”

“What did you need me to do, Father?” Angelica said. Crowley turned and blinked at her.

“… I forget,” he said. “Go find Junior; that would help. If you don’t, he’ll be out there for the rest of the day and miss the wedding.” He blinked again. “Come to think,” he said, “haven’t seen Datura or the boys, either.”

“Adam and Warlock went to town,” Angelica reminded him. “I bet Datura and Clem went with them. You know, to… help them choose the kinds of cheeses you and Azirafather like.”

“They’d best be back in enough time to change,” Crowley said darkly, and went back inside. Angelica hugged herself and wiggled happily. So far, it was all going according to plan.

“Azirafather?" Rosa whispered. She peeked around his study door. He looked up, smiled, and waved her in.

“Close the door, darling,” he said. “Mustn’t let Father see, now.”

She slipped inside and closed the door carefully. When she turned back, Azirafather clasped his hands together.

“Don’t you look a picture, Rosa, my love,” he said. Rosa coloured prettily and dipped him an elegant curtsey. She adored her cream lacy dress with its swishy skirt, and the shiny white shoes that Angelica had complained about wearing.

“Will you tie my sash, please, Azirafather?” she asked, holding out the length of tartan satin. He took it from her, sliding it through his hands and smiling at it.

“That sly serpent chose my tartan, but made it black and red,” he said. “The rogue. Turn around, love.”

Rosa turned her back to him and lifted her arms away from her body so he could settle it around her waist and start tying it. She gasped, seeing the set of clothes hanging against one of Azirafather’s bookcases.

“Is that your wedding outfit?” she said breathlessly.

“It is indeed,” he said, settling the loops of the bow to his satisfaction. He patted her shoulders, and she walked toward the outfit, eyes shining.

“Is there enough lace for you, my darling?” Aziraphale said. Rosa sighed in appreciation.

“Oh, Azirafather, it’s beautiful. Do you need help dressing?”

Aziraphale started to demur, but he saw the hope in her eyes.

“Absolutely,” he said. “And I’d be honoured if you would assist me.”

There was a series of quick raps on the door, and Angelica hissed, “Rosa! I need to talk with you!”

“Please pardon me for a moment, Azirafather,” Rosa said, and opened the door a bit. “What?” she whispered through the crack.

“They’re not back yet!” Angelica whispered, her eyes wide. Rosa stared back at her. “What do we do?”

“What still needs to be done?”

“Father needs to get dressed, and people will begin arriving soon. If the others aren’t here, then we need to greet them!”

“I’m helping Azirafather dress. You go help Father. We’ll start watching for guests at half an hour to go.”

Angelica bit her lip but nodded determinedly. Rosa nodded back firmly, and turned back to Azirafather, closing the door behind her.

Crowley had waited as long as he could before shutting himself in the bedroom, which was designated as his space for dressing. There was an hour to go, and there was still no sign of Datura and the boys. Makeup was supposed to be done before dressing to limit the potential for smudging the dress, but at the rate things were going, he’d have to do his makeup himself.

He was standing staring at his dress, hands on his hips, when a soft knock at the door came.

“Are you Warlock?” he said.

“No, Father, it’s me,” Angelica’s voice said tentatively. “May I come in?”

“Course, spawn,” he said. Angelica opened the door, whirled in, and closed it firmly, all in one movement.

“Azirafather can’t see you now,” she said. “Too close to the wedding.”

“Yeah, well, there may not be one if the other half of the wedding party doesn’t show up.” Crowley stalked across the room.

“I can help, Father,” Angelica volunteered. Crowley looked over his shoulder at his daughter, her hair slightly wild, a smudge on her shiny white shoes already, and her tartan sash askew. His heart softened and he went over to her, kneeling down and straightening her out.

“I would love your help,” he told her.

“I can try to remember what Warlock did,” she said, screwing up her face. Crowley stood up again and put his arm around her.

“Come with me,” he said. “We can figure it out together.”

“Come on, come on, come on,” Junior chanted from the back seat. Warlock closed his eyes in exasperation, trusting the Bentley.

“Anthony, you are _not helping_.”

“It’s no one’s fault the A23 had roadworks,” Adam said over his shoulder. “We lost a bit of time on the detour, but we’re right as rain now.”

Datura bit their lip, then leaned over to put their cheek against the window.

“Old girl,” they whispered. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Father and Azirafather are getting married, and we can’t be late. They’re counting on us. Can you please, please help us out? You know how dreadfully disappointed Father would be if…”

The Bentley did indeed know.

Warlock yelped as the car sped up.

“I didn’t—I haven’t touched anything!”

“Atta girl!” Junior cheered. Datura smiled and stroked the leather of the back seat.

“Thanks, old girl,” they whispered.

“Where have you BEEN?” Rosa hissed.

“Roadworks,” Adam said.

“Father’s beside himself,” Angelica said, running to join them. “Go, Warlock, go!”

Warlock vanished to Crowley’s room. Rosa grabbed Junior.

“You go upstairs and get into your outfit,” she ordered. “Datura, do you need help getting into your dress?”

“No,” Datura said, halfway up the stairs already. “I’ll need you to tie my sash, though.”

“Help me, Angelica,” Adam said. “We need to get the hampers to the back garden.”

“People will be arriving any moment,” she said, and there was a knock at the door. She and Adam stared at each other, frozen.

“Too late,” he said. Angelica huffed in frustration and went to the front door, recomposing her face into a smile.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Adam said as the door opened to reveal Anathema and Newt. “Ana, Newt! We need to get some food hampers from the garage to the back garden!”

The children finally made it out to the back garden after changing and helping guests find their way to the wedding location. It was, Rosa noted proudly, a good crowd: all the people who had helped them with the cakes and flowers and invitations, the librarian, the bookseller, the minister, the bakery people who made their bread, a few personal friends—Molly was there, in a pretty yellow dress, and James had come with his mother—and Father and Azirafather’s special friends, who all seemed to know Adam too. Adam looked remarkably handsome, she thought, with his wavy hair brushed neatly and a camel-coloured waistcoat over a white shirt. He was making sure that Azirafather’s gramophone from the living room was set up properly outdoors. He looked up from it, saw her looking at him, and sent her a grin.

“It’s just about time,” he said. “Go get Aziraphale.”

She nodded and turned to find all her siblings. They gathered at the back door of the cottage and looked at one another.

“We did it,” Junior said. “But where did all the extra flowers come from? I didn’t order the tulips and stuff.”

“And there’s an extra cake on the table!” Angelica said.

“We’re not done yet,” Rosa corrected. “We have to make sure they get married. Let’s go in and get them.”

Warlock opened the back door and came out, black waistcoat over a black shirt, like a negative of Adam.

“All good?” he said. They nodded. “Okay, I’ve got this from here. If anyone needs anything out here, I’ve got it covered. Go get them.”

“Thank you,”’ Rosa said, and they all dashed inside.

“Father?” Datura said at his bedroom door. Crowley took a deep breath and opened it.

“Hey, spawn,” he said. Datura’s mouth fell open.

“Father, you’re _beautiful,”_ they breathed.

“So are you. Hey, grab your sibs for a moment. I’ve laid out some additions to your outfits in the living room, and Azirafather left some boxes. Go get them.”

In the living room they found an array of flower crowns laid out, tagged with names. Rosa cried out happily and lifted her crown of pink sweetheart roses, placing it regally on her white curls. Angelica grinned at her crown of lilies of the valley, and Datura lifted their matching crown reverently. It was oddly too big to sit on their auburn head, the way Rosa and Angelica’s did. Junior had a boutonnière of herbs, which he inhaled enthusiastically. Angelica ran to fetch the box of corsages and boutonnières Mr John had brought, and they passed those out as well. It was definitely fun to have twice as many flowers.

“There’s a round box over here,” Junior said, then crowed, “It’s got my name on it! Hey, Tura, there’s one here for you, too! And Clem!”

Clem, who had been feeling a bit left out once everyone had scattered after the exciting run to the Ritz, came over to see. Junior opened the small box for him, and inside was a tiny top hat with an elastic.

“Clem!” Datura cried. “That’s so cool!”

 _Put it on me!_ Clem said excitedly. Junior carefully stretched the elastic and fitted the hat on Clem’s head, settling the elastic carefully under his chin.

“Don’t forget your bow tie,” Angelica said, kneeling down and taking a tiny black and red tartan bow out of her pocket. She slipped it around his neck and sat back on her heels, smiling, while Rosa pinned the tiny boutonnière Father had made for him to the hat.

“Oh, Clem,” she said, “you look marvellous.”

Junior and Datura opened their boxes and found top hats in their size, matching Clem’s. Junior put his on at a rakish angle, while Datura looked from theirs to the crown.

“I don’t know which to wear,” they said. “I like them both. I guess it should be the hat, since the crown doesn’t fit properly.”

Clem looked at the crown, then at the hat.

 _Tura?_ he said. _What if… you’re supposed to wear both?_

Datura blinked. They lifted the flower crown with one hand, and lowered it over the top hat they held in the other. It fit snugly around the band, resting on the brim.

“Brilliant,” Junior said as Datura lifted the hat and placed it on their head. They all looked at one another happily.

“My dears?” Aziraphale said from his study. “I do believe it is time?”

“Coming, Azirafather!” Rosa said, getting to her feet. She flashed a smile at her siblings, then ran to meet him, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm and escorting him out into the living room.

“ _Azirafather!”_ Datura cried out, then clapped their hands over their mouth as their siblings shushed them, their eyes round. Azirafather looked them over, pride brimming in his eyes.

“My loves,” he said. “What a special day.”

“Azirafather,” Rosa said, tugging at his arm. “We have to get _outside_ so Father can come out!”

“All right, my dear,” he said, and they started to move. In that moment Rosa realized that Azirafather was nervous, so nervous, which was ridiculous because he and Father had been together forever and saw one another every day of the week.

“I love you, Azirafather,” she whispered up to him. He looked fondly down at her and patted her hand where it rested on his dark sleeve.

“And I you, my precious,” he said.

“Don’t be nervous,” she said as Warlock opened the door to the garden for them. Azirafather chuckled, but it sounded a bit strained.

“Nervous? Why would I be, it’s only Father and I and a few close—oh, good Lord—who are all these _people_?”

Junior peeked over Angelica’s shoulder out the door to the garden, watching Rosa escort Azirafather to the arbour. There were little glass jars with bunches of flowers lining the aisle, and a loose crowd of people standing on either side. Hmm; they hadn’t thought about chairs for everyone. He hoped the ceremony would be short; that way they could set out the food and surprise Azirafather even more. Rosa came back down the aisle, leaving Azirafather at the arbour looking a bit stunned, eyes darting nervously around the crowd of people. Angelica handed her one of the baskets of rose petals, and they grinned at each other. Warlock nodded to Adam, who started the gramophone. Angelica bounced on her toes, warming up, and then the girls stepped out of the cottage, pacing sedately down the grass toward Azirafather, scattering rose petals as they went, Angelica with more enthusiasm than Rosa.

 _Wait!_ Clem cried, rearing back at the door as Father stepped out of his room, his hand resting on Datura’s arm. The little silk bag with the rings fell to the floor.

“What is it?” Junior said.

 _I can’t go out there!_ Clem cried. _All the town people think I’m a human!_

He and Junior exchanged horrified glances. They hadn’t even considered this.

“It will be weird if one of their kids is missing, won’t it,” Junior said, his heart sinking.

 _What do we do?_ Clem asked frantically. _My wheelchair? But I don’t have fancy clothes!_

“Father!” Junior shouted, turning around. Crowley stood behind them in the kitchen, arranging the skirt of his dress while Datura arranged the train. “Father, what do we do?”

Crowley looked up at them, his face beautifully defined by Warlock’s deft hand. “About what?”

“Father, we invited all sorts of people, and they don’t know Clem as a snake!”

“You invited—who’s out there, spawn?” He peered through the window. “Did you invite the entire _town_?”

“Just the important ones,” Datura said wretchedly.

“No time now—but trust me, we will be discussing this later. We’re suspending the no-miracle rule for this; it’s too important. Shift, Clem!”

He snapped his fingers up, and Clem was sitting in his wheelchair, a red and black tartan waistcoat on over a white shirt and black trousers. Junior snatched up the rings and put them on his lap. Clem’s face was flushed under his freckles, the bow tie was slightly crooked, and his red curls were every which way under the hat, but he looked better suited to be seen than he had as a snake. Junior mourned the tiny versions of the top hat and tie, though.

Rosa and Angelica were frowning in their direction down the aisle from where they stood at the arbour. Adam had restarted the music. Clem gulped.

“D’you need a push through the grass?” Junior said, helping him over the doorstep. Clem shook his head.

“I’m going to make it on my own. We’ve messed this up enough.”

He flexed his hands, seized the wheels of his chair, and began to propel himself down the aisle at a snail’s pace with determination. Aziraphale, taken aback, lifted his hands as if to come help, but Clem shook his head. Halfway there, his arms—not used to wheeling himself often, and certainly not over grass—began to shake. Angelica grabbed Rosa, and they met him in the aisle, each taking one of the handles and escorting him the rest of the way to Azirafather.

“Your turn,” said Crowley. “Just a moment, though; I have something I need you to bring to Azirafather.”

Datura and Junior carried it between them, each with one hand holding it, and when they reached the arbour they held it out to Azirafather. With eyes brimming, he took the crimson and white flower crown Crowley had made and placed on his head. They moved to stand with Angelica on what would be Crowley’s side, and everyone turned to look at the cottage door.

Warlock was helping Crowley maneuver the skirt of the dress over the doorstep. “All good, Nanny?” he murmured. Crowley squeezed his hand.

“Never better. Could do without the dry throat.”

“Need help walking to Aziraphale?”Warlock held out his arm a bit awkwardly. Crowley reached out a hand and touched his cheek.

“This, I do alone,” he said. Warlock nodded, and Crowley turned to face the arbour.

Aziraphale stood waiting for him, his fingers knotted together, his face glowing. Crowley swallowed hard, taking in the long black waistcoat, the elaborate black coat with deep sleeves over it, the black breeches over white stockings, and the black satin shoes with those outrageous buckles, a near-perfect replica of the ridiculous outfit that had landed him in the Bastille, but in Crowley’s customary black. The white lace cascade of the stock shone against the dark coat, and the deep red of the carnations glowed against his white hair. Crowley swallowed again.

At the other end of the aisle, Aziraphale’s breath hitched at the sight of his demon. Crowley would look dashing in anything, but this dress was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The top was a perfectly-fit tuxedo, cut close along Crowley’s slender arms, the shoulders and lapels sharp and stylish. Full lace cuffs flowed from the ends of the tight sleeves, matching the lace around the neck and across the chest. It nipped in along the torso, elongating Crowley’s already slender build, and then flared out into a glorious sweeping skirt that barely brushed the grass in front of him and extended into a short train at the back; there must have been metres and metres of fabric in the skirt and a crinoline underneath for it to be as full as it was. The bow tie was in Aziraphale’s customary cream, brown, and blue tartan, which made him catch his breath. But the true pièce de résistance was the ecru silk jacquard it was made from, a colour he had never seen Crowley wear in all the six thousand years they had known one another.

The sight of it made Aziraphale’s vision go blurry.

Junior was bouncing in place, and Datura was looking back and forth between their fathers with a blissful look on their face. Angelica watched Crowley come up the aisle with her hands clasped to her chest, and Rosa and Clem were holding hands tightly.

Aziraphale stepped forward to take Crowley’s free hand, belatedly noting the cascade of cream and red flowers he held in the other, the match to his flower crown. There were ivory sweetheart roses twined in his waves of russet hair. “Hello, my dear boy,” he said, the tears in his voice matching the ones in his eyes. He took the bouquet gently and held it out to Angelica to take.

“You’re wearing black,” Crowley said hoarsely. Aziraphale gave a short, wet laugh, lifting a hand to brush at his eyes.

“Have you seen my shoes?”

Crowley looked down, and Aziraphale lifted a black satin heel slightly and turned his leg out to the side. Crowley saw a flash of deep red soles and swallowed hard.

“You Louboutinized your Bastille shoes. How am I supposed to get through this now without ravishing you?”

“The same way I have to bear you wearing this.” Aziraphale smoothed one of Crowley’s ivory silk lapels, then ran his trembling fingers over the tartan bow tie. “You’ve given me such a precious gift, choosing these colours. You look exquisite, beloved.”

“Don’t start,” Crowley warned. “There are three dozen people here, most of whom neither you nor I invited, and we have to behave.”

“Father,” Junior said in a stage whisper. “Everyone is staring. Are you going to get on with it?”

“Shush, you,” Crowley said to his son. “I am going to gaze at your angel dad as long as I like. It’s my prerogative.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Junior whispered back, just as loudly.

“It means this is our day, which the lot of you begged for and then apparently organized as you pleased without us knowing, and we shall do as we like,” Azirafather said with dignity, gathering Crowley’s arm and tucking it under his. He met Crowley’s eyes. “Ready?”

“No,” said Crowley, turning to face him. “But there are too many people here to disappoint. That’s probably why I’m not ready all of a sudden. This was supposed to be just us and a couple of others.”

“How odd,” Aziraphale murmured. “I always thought you were the one who went too fast. And now, I’m the one who is ready.”

Crowley felt something in his throat and swallowed hard to dislodge it.

“Oh, angel,” he said, “you are my everything. I would have married you millennia ago. That’s different from saying it in front of a bunch of humans.”

“Our side,” Aziraphale reminded him, forgetting to murmur. “We chose this together. And there’s no one I’d rather be with until the end of time.” He leaned forward to touch his forehead to Crowley’s. Crowley closed his eyes and fought to breathe evenly.

 _Our side_. They’d chosen Earth and humanity. Perhaps it was appropriate that three dozen humans stood with them now.

They stood there, eyes closed, foreheads touching. Words weren’t necessary, really. Crowley had intended to speak from the heart, but he found that he couldn’t, after all. What he felt was far beyond words.

Aziraphale felt Crowley trembling, and abandoned his carefully prepared speech. He said, “Tell me about the flowers in my crown and your bouquet.”

“Your flowers? The—well, the carnations are crimson. They’re for love, pride, and admiration. The alstroemeria stands for loyalty and friendship. The astilbe…” He looked down at their entwined hands. “Astilbe means patient waiting. Devotion. The whole ‘I’ll always be here’ thing. The Queen Anne’s Lace… is associated with sanctuary.” He lifted his eyes to Aziraphale’s.“That’s what you are,” he said. “You’re my sanctuary. You always have been, and I’m here, Aziraphale, I’m here, patiently waiting, always, and devoted to you.”

Aziraphale felt something grow in his chest, and his welling eyes overflowed.

“I was in denial for so long, my love. Who else could be my companion, my partner, my match? Who else could show me, so patiently, that the direction I was taking, the philosophy I followed, the judgements I made were so destructive, so very wrong? It took me a while—I’m rather thick, I do know that—”

Crowley snorted through his silent tears.

“—but you were always there, such a delight, so supportive, so… tempting.”

“That wasn’t in my favour most of the time, angel,” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale smiled.

“It was. It just took me a very, very long time to understand it properly. You have been very patient with me, my love. And I am overjoyed to be able to stand and say that I choose you, yesterday, today, always. I choose our life together, and our own direction.”

They gazed into each others eyes, hands clasped.

When nothing else was said after a while, Junior cleared his throat loudly. Angelica elbowed him sharply. He gave her a dark look and glanced across at Rosa, who shrugged uncertainly. He exchanged looks with Datura, who bit their lip. It was awkward; everyone was watching, and their fathers were just standing there by the rose arbour, lost in each others’ eyes.

Someone needed to take action.

Junior marched across the aisle to Clem and held out his hand. Clem understood immediately and gave him the rings. Junior marched to his fathers and pushed between them, turning around to face them and the gathered people.

“We are gathered here today to witness the union—” Rosa nodded approvingly. “—of the princess and the hero. I mean, of Azirafather and Father. Here are your rings.”

Aziraphale was trying to hold down the chuckle that was threatening to escape him, much as he had during the play wedding six weeks ago. Crowley had his hands over his face.

“Spawn, what are you even—”

“Crowley, darling, give me your hand,” Aziraphale said. Crowley lowered the requisite hand, his cheeks bright red, and Aziraphale slipped the golden angel-wing band on it. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it.

Crowley’s heart fluttered. He took the silver band Junior held out to him and lifted Aziraphale’s left hand, sliding it on his finger. They joined hands again, gazing at each other. Junior sighed.

“There. I now pronounce you sn—”

Every single one of his siblings gasped, and he faltered. That had been close.

“I pronounce you… the best two dads in the universe.”

Crowley pressed his eyes shut to try to stop the new wave of tears. He heard Aziraphale’s soft laugh.

“You may now…” Junior trailed off. It finally sank in that every single person assembled was staring at them.

“ _Say it_ ,” Rosa hissed, gripping her basket as if she were on the verge of throwing it at him. But Junior was frozen. Angelica rolled her eyes.

“KISS NOW,” she said loudly.

Crowley burst out laughing, while Aziraphale shook his head, chuckling. A ripple of laughter went through the guests.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s face between his hands. “I love you, you wily serpent,” he said. Crowley lifted his own hands to place them along Aziraphale’s jawline.

“And I love you, you blessed angel.”

They leaned forward, and kissed one another.

Adam whooped, and the guests broke into applause. Clem sighed in relief and slumped back in his chair.

“ _Now_ we’re done,” Rosa said. “Excellent work, everyone.”

All the children scampered to their fathers, Datura racing Clem’s wheelchair over, and many hugs were exchanged. Aziraphale exclaimed over Clem’s waistcoat, and Datura surprised everyone (themself most of all) by bursting into tears, necessitating a loan of Azirafather’s handkerchief to dab at the eye makeup Warlock had applied for them. Adam began unpacking the food from the hampers, laying out the trays and platters of finger food on the table, while Warlock opened a few bottles of champagne and began pouring glasses of it to set out. Aziraphale and Crowley began to accept congratulations from the guests, but after a few minutes when Newt wandered past with a small plate of delicacies, Aziraphale blinked at him.

“What was— Good Lord, Crowley, look at all that food. Where did the boys come up with all that?” Then, taking a closer look, he gasped, clutching Crowley’s shoulder. “Darling, that’s our Ritz order!”

“Can’t be,” Crowley said. Adam noticed them squinting across the garden at the buffet table and waved cheerfully. At the table next to him, Warlock opened another bottle of champagne and grinned. Aziraphale made his way through the crowd, dragging Crowley with him.

“How on earth did the two of you—”

“You were so disappointed,” Adam said. “The kids were determined to make this happen for you.”

Aziraphale surveyed the spread of amuse-bouches and hors d’oeuvres, speechless.

“Wait,” Crowley said, his brows lowering. “How did this get here?”

“That,” Adam said, “is a discussion to have at a later date.” He took the two glasses of champagne that Warlock brought over, and presented them to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Congratulations,” he said.

The afternoon went on, the sun lowering in the sky while people circulated in garden party fashion. They cut the cake when they grew tired of the children pestering them—Crowley drawled something about flaming swords being out of the question for a job like this—and the children took an enormous plate of cupcakes and went to sit under one of the trees by Father’s greenhouse.

“We did it,” Angelica sighed, flopping back onto the grass without any regard for stains on her cream lace dress. Rosa perched carefully on a rock, pulling her skirt close to her legs to keep it from touching the ground.

“We did,” she said.

“I can’t wait to get out of this,” Clem said, pulling at the waistcoat. “Clothes are terrible.”

“They looked so romantic holding hands up there,” Datura sighed. They took off their hat and brushed down their dress contentedly.

“I think everyone is enjoying themselves,” Rosa said, looking around the garden. Adam and Warlock joined them, both flopping on the grass beside Angelica.

“A good job all round, I’d say,” Adam said to the sky.

“Well and truly surprised,” Warlock agreed.

Junior watched their fathers laugh and chat with people. He sighed. “What are we going to do, now that all the planning and organizing is over? It’s going to be boring.”

Adam propped himself up on one elbow.

“Weeeeell,” he said mischievously. Warlock cocked an eyebrow, while Junior leaned forward eagerly. “They haven’t planned a honeymoon, now, have they?”

Warlock groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. The Fell-Crowley children all exchanged wide-eyed looks.

“We start on Monday,” said Rosa.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have all been so wonderfully supportive through this fic! 
> 
> Okay!! You all wanted to know what Crowley's dress looked like? We based it on Billy Porter's swoonworthy black velvet tuxedo gown. Silk jacquard flows very differently, however, so the jacket/top portion is more form-fitting. Take a look at [this](https://www.confetti.co.uk/wedding/news/arsuits-launched-a-tuxedo-gown-for-men-at-the-national-wedding-show/) for an idea of how it fits. Instead of a solid shirt-like bodice and collar, however, it's ecru lace. The skirt is totally the Billy Porter extravaganza, though, just lighter.
> 
> [This is the ecru silk jacquard fabric it's made from](https://prismsilks.com/collections/jacquard/products/ecru-hand-dyed-silk-jacquard). Of course it's a floral pattern. This is Crowley.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! Have an epilogue! Just cramming in some things we couldn't quite get to in the text. Consider this your "discount Valentine's chocolate day" present!

“This feels silly,” Junior complained as he was dragged along by his siblings and Adam to the orchard. “She didn’t even come.”

“But she took the invitation when we left one in here,” Rosa pointed out, carefully balancing a cupcake and a few small hors d’oeuvres on a plastic plate.

“A squirrel could have taken it, you don’t know,” Junior fumed, but his protest was mostly show at this point, since they were already there.

“It’s still a nice thing to do,” Clem said, helping Datura propel his chair along.

“Yeah, think of it like leaving an offering,” Adam said as Rosa found a nice spot in the orchard to rest a plate. “People do that all the time.”

“I’m just saying, if she wanted to be here, she’d be here,” Junior muttered.

“And what makes you think she isn’t?” Rosa sniffed. “Just because we can’t see her doesn’t mean she isn’t here.”

“Whatever.” Angelica wriggled and stretched. “We left some. Can we please go back to playing tag now?”

“You lot go on ahead, I want to check something out real fast,” Adam said, and smiled as the younger kids all raced off without him, even Clem. He waited a few seconds, then released a calm breath through his nose. “So. Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, enormously,” a woman with an unknowable face and an ineffable smile said, stepping up beside Adam and holding the plate. She popped some kind of small crab tart in her mouth and chewed slowly. “This is good. You kids did really well.”

“Couldn’t have done it without them,” Adam said, inclining his head towards the Fell-Crowley brood. “They’re stronger than I am by far, they just don’t know it yet.”

“You’re no slouch, either, kiddo,” the woman said, tasting the cupcake and wiggling a little. “Ooh, coffee cake and cinnamon frosting, classic.”

“Well, time paradox and all, had to retain a little something,” Adam shrugged. He glanced at the woman and grinned. “Are you going to congratulate the happy couple?”

“They don’t need my approval,” the woman said contentedly. “They never did. They make their own meaning and find their own happiness, just as intended.”

“Still, it’s polite,” Adam said. “Say hey. Give a present. You know, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, of course I sent a gift,” the woman laughed. “I was invited, after all. They might even like it.”

Adam looked over at the gifts table and saw a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny gold paper that hadn’t been there a minute ago. He smirked and looked back out at the wedding party. People were starting to leave, but Aziraphale and Crowley were so wrapped up in each other they barely noticed anything else. It was a good wedding, all told. Adam glanced over the crowd, noted Warlock slouching by himself in a corner again, and put aside a very private smile for him that Warlock happened to look up and see. Warlock scowled at him and flicked his hair in much the same manner as most people would flip someone a rude finger, and then stared harder at his phone.

“This has been lovely,” the woman sighed, thumbing crumbs off her empty plate, “but I do need to get going. Universe won’t oversee itself, y’know.”

“’course,” Adam said, and held his hand out for the plate. “Take care, Gran.”

God’s eyes sparkled as she handed over the plate. “That’s my well-mannered boy,” she said fondly, and in a blink was gone. Adam walked the plate to the appropriate rubbish bin and made a beeline for where Warlock was getting pulled into some game or another by the younger kids. Someone had to be the responsible one in this group, after all.

Later, under a dark velvet sky, the happy couple shared the last bottle of champagne beneath the rose arbor. Aziraphale had lost his coat somewhere along with his cravat, his shirt scandalously unlaced. Crowley’s hair had been gathered back at some point. He was leaning against his husband’s shoulder and basking in the feeling of being newlyweds about as much as he’d basked in any golden ray of sun.

“We ought to try that again one day,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“Maybe after the kids are grown,” Crowley sighed, unable to shake his grin (and truthfully not really trying, either). He toed at his wedding boots, resting near Aziraphale’s ridiculous shoes. They were beautiful camel-colored leather Victorian heels, and Crowley expected to never see them again, judging by the round eyes and gasps of Rosa and Datura when he’d shown them off. The laces were blue ribbons and definitely stolen from Aziraphale’s growing pile of fibercrafts and sewing projects. Aziraphale had unrolled his stockings and stuffed them in his shoes; Crowley still had his on, both of them able to feel the garden’s cool grass under their toes regardless.

“Don’t suppose we really need a fancy ceremony to commemorate our relationship,” Aziraphale huffed, “but it was nice.”

“Still have to open gifts,” Crowley said, thinking of the pile in the living room floor. “Bet you breakfast the Dowlings sent another kettle.”

Aziraphale snorted and smiled and the empty champagne bottle was put down. He leaned his head against Crowley’s and breathed him in, still smelling of fresh flowers even at the end of the day.

“What the spawn did…” Crowley started, and hesitated.

“Proof that meddling, misinterpretation, and marvelous good deeds are baked into the genes, I’d say,” Aziraphale said contentedly.

“They took the Bentley. They must’ve done, there’s no way they rode their bikes to London and back, probably without seatbelts,” Crowley mused. Then he snickered. “Listen to me. Really have gone soft.”

“I think we can excuse their grand larceny in this case,” Aziraphale yawned. “Lord, I’m tired.”

“Can’t be too tired,” Crowley said casually, fighting his own yawn. “You haven’t seen the little trick I’ve got up my sleeve. Or. Up my skirt, as the case may be.”

Aziraphale sat up and raised an eyebrow at him, smile creeping on his face. “Oh?”

“Well…call it a preview for the honeymoon,” Crowley purred, and leaned in to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear, one hand reaching out to place Aziraphale’s palm flat on his silk-covered thigh. Aziraphale’s face grew hot and red as his smile widened. He stroked the definitive edge of some kind of strap high on Crowley’s leg and chuckled as Crowley’s whispering petered off.

“Sound good to you, Mr. Fell?” Crowley asked lightly, nibbling Aziraphale’s ear.

“Fell-Crowley, darling, I’m a married man,” Aziraphale beamed, bringing Crowley’s hand to his lips and kissing it across the knuckles.

“My married man,” Crowley sighed, and turned Aziraphale’s face towards his for a proper post-wedding garden snog. “My angel.”

The crickets sang in the hedge and inside the children dreamed. It was a perfect night for it.


End file.
